Page 67 of The Unassuming Curator

“My apologies.” He bowed. “Visitors are not generally permitted in this portion of the museum unless they are part of a tour, so I confess, I was equally startled to see you.” He paused. “May I be of assistance?”

“Not unless you can tell us where Mr. Buckland might be,” she said.

Emily watched his face. A twitch in his jaw was the only indication that anything might be amiss, but the slight movement drew her attention to an area of purple discoloration on his chin. Was it a bruise?

“I’m afraid not.” There was a polite hint of regret in Mr. Fernsby's response to Aunt Millward. “He hasn’t been seen at the museum all day.”

Aunt Millward frowned. “How very odd. Try the door one more time, my dear.”

Mentally applauding the older lady’s quick thinking, Emily knocked on the empty office door. As expected, they were met with silence.

“He appears to be gone,” Emily said. “We shall have to try visiting him another day.”

“Well, I daresay artifacts that have remained hidden for centuries will not change much in a week,” Aunt Millward said. She took Emily’s arm. “Come. We shall console ourselves by going to the milliner’s shop. No young lady should be without a hat decorated by peacock feathers, do you not think, Mr. Fernsby?”

“Peacock feathers have much to recommend them, my lady.”

He smiled, and Emily sensed more than a little relief in the expression. She had yet to be formally introduced to the man, and for that, she was glad. As much as she never wished to wear a hat sporting bouncing feathers of any kind, she itched to be out of his presence.

“A new bonnet is a wonderful idea,” she said.

Aunt Millward gave a pleased nod. “It seems that we are embarking on an alternate activity for the afternoon, Mr. Fernsby. Good day to you.”

“Allow me to walk you out,” he said.

“Thank you, but there is no need for you to trouble yourself.”

“It is no trouble at all.” He raised one arm and gestured toward the stairs. “I was planning on leaving for a meeting myself.”

To demure further would have raised his suspicions, so with an acquiescent nod, Aunt Millward and Emily started across the landing. Mr. Fernsby followed close behind. His footsteps echoed theirs down the marble stairs, the steady rhythm marking their removal from the museum like the beat of an ominous drum.

Emily felt his eyes upon her and suppressed her instinctive shudder. The man may have perfected an impressive facade, but he could not replicate the light that shone from a person’s eyes when they went about doing good. Like the light that shone in Henry’s eyes. She tightened her grip on Aunt Millward’s arm. If that light had been snuffed out by this awful pretender, she did not know what she would do.

“Take heart, my dear.” They had reached the entrance hall, and Aunt Millward had picked up her pace. “I believe we shall find exactly what you are looking for today.”

Pushing past the despair threatening to creep into her heart, Emily managed a weak smile. “I have that same hope.”

“I am glad to hear it. Over the years, I have learned that hope wields a great deal of power.”

Grateful for the reminder, Emily raised her chin a fraction. Hope would get her through until she had something more tangible to hold on to. They would find Henry because they would not give up until they did.

“No luck, my lady?” Rutherford stepped out from behind his table. The visitors he’d admitted earlier must already be in the manuscript saloon with Mr. Townsend.

“I’m afraid not, Rutherford,” Aunt Millward said. “We shall return again before long.”

“Very good, my lady.” He moved to open the door for them.

“You may resume your other responsibilities, Rutherford.” Mr. Fernsby spoke from directly behind Emily. “I shall walk the ladies out.”

“As you wish, sir.”

They exited the building. Aunt Millward’s carriage was parked not far from where they’d disembarked. Two more carriages were parked a little farther up the driveway, presumably awaiting the return of the museum’s visitors, and as they started down the shallow steps, a hackney cab rolled up the drive toward them.

Aunt Millward’s driver saw them coming and left his perch to open the carriage door for them.

“Thank you, Robert,” Aunt Millward said.

“Of course, my lady.” He bowed and offered her his hand to assist her into the vehicle. It did not escape Emily’s notice that Aunt Millward had failed to acknowledge Mr. Fernsby again after their removal from the upper floor of the museum. He stood nearby, but Emily considered Aunt Millward’s example worthy of emulation, and so without so much as a glance his direction, she accepted the driver’s assistance into carriage.